


needs must (ephesians 4:2)

by orphan_account



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: First Time, Fisting, M/M, Oral Sex, fitzroy is intersex, light internalized dyadism, master firbolg is trans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:30:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21524455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Private time?” His voice is just as slow and low as usual, but Fitzroy detects a hint of amusement. “What is this ‘private time’?”“You know,” Fitzroy says, indignant. “Time alone. Youknow.”“Why do you need time alone?”
Relationships: Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt/The Firbolg
Comments: 12
Kudos: 161





	needs must (ephesians 4:2)

**Author's Note:**

> don't blame me, blame my nonexistent cease and desist letter from the mcelroys 
> 
> also thank you so much to my beta 14hrflight! and sorry about all my grammar "innovations," you're a champ ^^

“Sir firbolg,” Fitzroy says, perched atop his beds. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” 

The firbolg looks up from where he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, his virtually untouched accounting homework strewn out in front of him.

“No,” he intones. He’s generally a good roommate, much more tolerable than Argo, but less so in this moment. Fitzroy can’t help but let out a huff of distaste. 

“Well, could you go somewhere else? I’d like some private time?” 

The firbolg tilts his head, a gesture that looks odd on such a large person. “Private time?” His voice is just as slow and low as usual, but Fitzroy detects a hint of amusement. “What is this ‘private time’?” 

“You know,” Fitzroy says, indignant. “Time alone. You _ know_.”

“Why do you need time alone?” 

Fitzroy sputters. “Are you playing dumb, or are you really that dumb, Master firbolg? To— to take care of myself!”

The firbolg looks genuinely confused. “Take care of yourself? Why not… let others take care of you?” 

Fitzroy scoffs, shifting back in his bed. “It’s a _ private _ thing,” he says. “Besides, I don’t have anyone to, uh, take care of me.” The firbolg just gives him a blank stare, so he adds, uncomfortable, “Sexually.” 

The firbolg lets out a low laugh then, but it’s good-natured. “Oh, so that’s all?” He catches Fitzroy’s scowl, and goes on, “You... don’t need to be alone for that.” 

There’s a pregnant silence. Fitzroy is speechless, if only briefly, but any speechlessness is quite significant for him. 

“Excuse me?”

“It doesn’t have to be alone, or private… you have roommate here.” He smiles, and Fitzroy raises an eyebrow. 

“Are you _ propositioning me_?”

“Not if you’d rather be alone, and private…” The firbolg trails off, and Fitzroy stares blankly at him, at the benign expression on his face. He doesn’t seem to be that invested in the matter, and generally, Fitzroy has the sense that the firbolg inexplicably has no sexual interest in him, though that’s never bothered him. So this would be something casual, then. That would be fine. It’s been, admittedly, a very long time since anyone has gotten Fitzroy off. Aside from himself, of course.

He slides off his beds, standing a few feet away from his roommate, and he’s annoyed to notice that he’s still looking at him with that same vexingly benign expression. “Well. I suppose I wouldn’t mind, uh, a helping hand. _ Et cetera._” 

“Okay,” the firbolg says blandly. 

“Um.” He shifts his weight, and the firbolg blinks, relaxed as ever, and for some odd reason, it irritates him. Fitzroy’s beginning to wonder if anything could phase the guy. 

“Would you like to be undressed?”

“I guess so,” Fitzroy mutters under his breath. The firbolg leans forward, saying nothing. 

_ This is happening_, he thinks with a touch of disbelief, and, face warming, he slides out of his pants and underwear. He’s overly aware of the firbolg watching him. To make matters worse, the firbolg scootches closer, settling only a foot away as Fitzroy lowers himself to the dirty floor. _ I’ll take a _ long _ shower after this, _ he thinks bitterly. Horniness often leads one to do indecent, downright disgusting things, like sit on a floor. The firbolg smiles up at him, likely sensing Fitzroy’s hesitance to put his bare fucking ass on the ground. As if it’s amusing, or endearing, maybe. Curiously, there’s nothing hostile about that smile; nothing hostile about the firbolg in general. 

Fitzroy sighs, mostly for show. “Well,” he says, sitting back and spreading his thighs. “I’m uh, happy to answer questions.” He places a finger on either side of his dick, already hard and aching to be touched. Pressing down, he’s nearly three inches. Pitiful compared to whatever the firbolg’s probably packing. 

“I have no questions,” the firbolg says quietly. Fitzroy meets his eye, and his expression is kind. 

Fitzroy’s had worse reactions, but still. 

“It looks weird though, right?”

“I have… two holes, too.” He reaches forward, a finger brushing against Fitzroy’s inner thigh, skin hot and the touch surprisingly soft. 

The barbarian licks his lips. “My cunt, um, is different…” 

“Cunt,” the firbolg repeats, voice still very quiet. “I don’t know this word.” 

Fitzroy could almost laugh. “Um, it’s just what I call it. I sometimes, uh…” He slides his fingers past his dick, holding in a groan when his palm brushes over it, and he dips his index finger inside, pressing to the second joint. “I don’t think I could fit much of yours, I guess.”  
  
His eyes dart to the firbolg’s hand, resting on his leg still. “Maybe just one,” the firbolg concludes, and his hand moves steadily for Fitzroy’s cock. Once there, he grips the thin shaft delicately with the pads of three fingers. Fitzroy groans in response, and the firbolg smiles. “It’s good?”

“Yes, very.” 

Fitzroy adds a second finger as he fucks himself, and the firbolg begins stroking him, a too-slow and too-intentional kind of movement that somehow feels much better than his own hand ever could. 

“I want you to fuck me,” Fitzroy pants, now stretching himself with three fingers.

“Vulgar,” the firbolg says simply, and Fitzroy laughs, the sound breathy and faraway. 

“Yeah.” 

The firbolg’s fingers slide to the top of Fitzroy’s dick, squeezing gently. Then he pulls his hands away, intent on watching as Fitzroy pulls out his fingers, casting a lube cantrip and spreading it over himself before giving the firbolg access to his cunt. 

“Just one,” comes the firbolg’s low voice, and the tip of his middle finger presses over Fitzroy’s opening. Fitzroy, for his part, tries to gather himself and look as presentable as possible in anticipation of being fingered by his roommate. His hand rests over his dick, gripping it loosely while the firbolg presses into his cunt, stretching him further. 

“Fuck,” Fitzroy mutters. 

The firbolg’s finger is huge, almost uncomfortable as it goes in. The sensation is pleasurable, though, maybe because the firbolg is excruciatingly gentle, taking his time to the point that Fitzroy nearly forgets about the size issue. Shamefully, it isn’t long before Fitzroy is rocking his hips, pressing upwards, trying to take more and more. 

More than anything, his roommate looks amused by this. “Patience.”

Fitzroy begins stroking himself, his eyes closing. “I’ll have you know that I am exceptionally patient. And humble, and gentle…” 

The firbolg chuckles, a very pleasant sound, and he gently eases his finger out. Fitzroy gasps. 

“Good? Remember we are patient.”

“Yes, yes,” Fitzroy breathes, “Now, _ in _ again, please--” 

And the firblog presses back in, his finger not even fully sheathed in Fitzroy’s cunt but still snug, very full-feeling, more than adequate, really. It’s much bigger than anything else Fitzroy has ever taken, not that he’d ever admit that. 

The firbolg thrusts slowly, and he pauses occasionally, his finger curling against Fitzroy’s walls as much as his cunt allows. Fitzroy strokes himself frantically, his hips rocking against the resistance of the firblog’s finger. Eventually, the firblog places a large hand on Fitzroy’s lower stomach. 

“You move too much.” He lowers his head slightly, his hand pressing down hard as he fucks Fitzroy’s cunt. 

Kept in place, Fitzroy shifts from fucking his fist to squeezing himself, desperate for more sensation, even with a large finger thrusting inside of him. The firbolg’s free hand moves from his stomach and touches Fitzroy’s hand, and intuitively, Fitzroy knows to move away. The hand goes back to Fitzroy’s stomach, pinning him to the_ (dirty, disgusting, filthy) _ floor, and the firbolg’s head lowers again, and he takes Fitzroy’s cock into his mouth, and Fitzroy gasps, trying desperately to buck into the firbolg’s mouth, because fuck, _ fuck-- _

The firbolg’s hand presses down hard, fingering Fitzroy more roughly before changing the angle of his finger slightly. His broad tongue presses against the underside of Fitzroy’s cock as he sucks, and Fitzroy nearly blacks out when he comes, his hands grabbing clumps of his roommate’s dirty hair. 

As the pleasure subsides, the firbolg pulls away from Fitzroy’s cock, and he pulls his finger out gingerly, not even cleaning it before resting it on the half-elf’s leg. He meets Fitzroy’s eyes, a pleasant expression on his face. There’s wetness on his chin, hopefully mostly lube, but regardless, it’s gross and unfortunately kind of hot. 

“Shit,” Fitzroy breathes. 

The firbolg regards him for another moment, then looks back between his thighs. “It is still hard?”

“Oh yeah, that, uh… it’ll get soft, just takes a little longer,” Fitzroy says awkwardly. 

A nod, then the firbolg shifts back. 

“Do you want— um, would you like…?” Fitzroy trails off. 

“You want to touch me too,” he says simply, and Fitzroy flushes. 

“Sure.” 

“That is good,” the firbolg says evenly, and it’s Fitzroy’s turn to grin, amused by the matter-of-fact way the firbolg speaks even in this setting. 

The firbolg sheds his garments and leans back. His heavy belly is covered with thick black hair, and his pubic mound is, too. Fitzroy tries not to gawk as he stretches a hand forward, stopping just before he can touch the firbolg’s crotch. Everything is just so… large. It feels stupid just to think it, but up close, Fitzroy’s long fingers look small against him, the firbolg seemingly bigger than ever. Passingly, he thinks that he might be able to fit his whole hand in easily, if he tried. 

“You can put it inside,” the firbolg says, and Fitzroy looks up at him. 

“P-put what?” he stammers. The firbolg blinks, apparently not seeing the question as worthy of a response. 

But penetration is okay. Alright. Good to know. 

Fitzroy places a tentative finger near the firbolg’s hole, pulling his outer folds wide, the redder (or rather, less blue) flesh exposed. The firbolg gives Fitzroy a meaningful look, and the barbarian huffs, pressing two fingers inside. The firbolg tenses noticeably, and Fitzroy looks up at his face. 

“It’s okay?”

“Yes,” he says slowly. “Is… weird.” 

Fitzroy chuckles, curling his fingers. “It felt pretty nice when you did it to me,” he says almost conversationally, but the firbolg just hums and tilts his head back slightly. 

Fitzroy wonders briefly if the firbolg has ever had anything as small as a half-elf’s fingers inside him before, but he doesn’t dwell on the thought long and continues on, stroking the wall of the firbolg‘s hole with more speed than before. 

“You can put more,” the firbolg says. “...all.” 

“Like, my whole_ fist? _”

He receives a noncommittal noise in response, so he pulls out, his hand rearranging so he can add more fingers. Going from two to five seems like a large transition, but there’s wetness everywhere, and the firbolg is very relaxed, his hole showing virtually no resistance to Fitzroy’s two. It’s similar when his four fingertips press into the entrance, the firbolg sighing heavily with content, but the fit feels a lot tighter when Fitzroy begins to ease his thumb in as well. By the time he gets to his knuckles, he’s working slowly and more carefully than before. He sinks further in over the course of a couple of minutes, the wet flesh eventually engulfing his entire hand. 

Snug, overwhelmingly so. Warm. The slick is to Fitzroy’s wrist, but somehow he doesn’t mind. The firbolg groans, a large hand reaching down and then settling to rest on his own thigh. Fitzroy rocks his fist slowly, awed at the way wet flesh clings to his hand, the way the large person before him shifts and sounds just from the subtlest movement on his part. 

His thrusts are gentle, nothing nearly rough enough to be called fucking, but the firbolg moans loudly, and then Fitzroy’s other hand goes to his nub, large and flat and engorged with arousal, a _ whimper _ comes out of him, and it’s beautiful, really, not that Fitzroy would ever say such a thing aloud. 

“You’re doing so good,” he says softly, and the firbolg begins to pant, his hips jerking up erratically. The movement is challenging with such a large partner, but Fitzroy continues rubbing broad circles over the firbolg, rocking his fist inside his hole. The fist is an organ the size of your heart, but the firbolg’s heartbeat is pulsing all around Fitzroy’s hand. 

The firbolg seems to be very close, Fitzroy notes with no small amount of self-satisfaction. His noises are almost cute, so uncharacteristic of him, higher than any other noise that’s ever come out of him, and small, nearly delicate. But he’s a big boy. Without warning, his arms reach out, and the firbolg wraps them around Fitzroy, practically crushing the smaller man against his torso as his orgasm washes over him. 

For his part, Fitzroy tries to eke a little more pleasure out of him, his hand rocking and his fingers stimulating the firbolg as best they can with his limited mobility, being pinned as such. When it passes, the firbolg’s grip loosens, and Fitzroy carefully pulls his hands back. 

“I got… Carried away.” 

The firbolg’s voice sounds a little weaker than usual, but his words being a smile to Fitzroy’s face. “That’s putting it lightly!” The firbolg chuckles, and Fitzroy carelly extracts himself, standing and picking up his pants. “But yes, that was, uh, nice.” He kind of wishes he hadn’t gotten up. The firbolg was quite warm. 

“Was nice,” the firbolg echoes. He takes his time gathering his clothes. Fitzroy casts a cleaning cantrip on his hand and pulls on his pants, then grabs his shower caddy and towel. “Have nice shower.”

“You should shower too you know, one day,” he says. The firbolg laughs good-naturedly, and Fitzroy wrinkles his nose. “For real. If we’re ever going to do this again, you’re going to need to bathe.” 

“Will keep that in mind.” 

In the hall, in anticipation of a nice hot shower, Fitzroy can’t help but consider that maybe, the ground isn’t so bad after all. 


End file.
